The Life and Death of Maylisee Donner
by Matilleh
Summary: Maylisee Donner has had her fair share of hardship. After the odds are entirely NOT in her favour, and Maylisee is entered into the 2nd Quarter Quell, her natural instinct to survive kicks in.
1. Chapter 1

I stare at my reflection in the mirror; meeting my own startling grey eyes in the mirror. I fasten the clasp of the Mockingjay pin that sits neatly on the collar of my pretty paisley dress. My blonde hair has been attacked; primped and curled into submission. It is not Reaping Day-but it is a special day. The Announcement of the Quarter Quell.

Three hours later, Mariah and I sit in adjoining chairs in the school hall. As the Announcement is a mandatory programming, the public tend to watch it together. Mariah sits exactly the way I do; ankles crossed, back straight and hands poised neatly on her knees. We would look almost symmetrical; if not for my startling grey eyes and her blue dress she is currently wearing. She leans across and snatches my hand, enveloping one in her icy hands.

"You okay?" She asks hesitantly as an old TV is rolled in to the room. The room is abuzz with conversation: but the feeling of uncertainty lingers. "Yeah, sure," I sigh. "Why wouldn't I be?" That question seems to answer itself: the very reason I sit in this hall. Mariah temporarily drops my hand as Brian Undersee slips into a seat behind us to turn around and give him a quick kiss. I chuckle-my sister and her boyfriend can't stay away from eachother longer than five hours without withdrawal symptoms.

July, and her mother, manage to squeeze along the rows and into the two seats next to me. Mariah and I have known July all our life-and lived alongside her in the Merchant's Village. Like a promise, we all join hands- me, Mariah and July as the TV bursts into life.

First, we watch clips from the last Hunger Games. I particularly hated that year-the tributes were thrown into a frozen artic with polar bears twice the size of what they usually were. The only weapons were shoddy; leaving most tributes to succumb to starvation, die at the hands of the roaming wildlife or die a bloody death at the hands of another. The winner, Paulina Malarky, won because of her amazing ability to elude starvation.

Eventually, after about half an hour of mind-numbing boredom, the Seal of Panem flashes on the screen and the room falls deathly silent. Mariah squeezes my hand. President Snow is shown, reading from the Treaty of Treason to a besotted Capitol audience. Finally, a glittering box is carried onto the illuminated stage by a small boy, and the President takes it and selects a card from hundreds.

He opens it, scans it and opens his mouth. I screw my eyes shut-hoping, just hoping that it won't be awful. I wish silently over and over that Mariah and July will be kept safe.

"To remind the rebels that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, double the amount of tributes will be reaped into the Games." And then the image has gone, leaving flickering static. It's silent-like a blow failed to sink in. I slowly let all the air I inhaled out, realizing I had been holding my breath and try to wrench my hand from Mariah's iron grip. Suddenly, I hear a wail, and realize this is the worst thing possible.

I try to not let my eyes water as I imagine four tributes from our District. The odds are 100% improved; meaning Mariah and July and I aren't as safe as I imagined. Mariah's face is drawn: pale in shock. July just scuffs her shoes on the floor, shaking her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

That night, as Mariah sits across the table from me, silently chewing her dinner, she asks me something. "Do you realize, May, just how lucky we are?" I'm taken aback by this question-yes, by standards compared to most of the people living here, yes we are. But I think of Father-only returning from jaunts away from us occasionally, completely drunk, and the amount of times Mariah and I have had to wipe the sick from his face and put him to bed. I think of all the times he's come back, and left almost as quickly, but not without leaving hand-shaped marks imprinted on our faces. I think of Mother; and the long winter that brought her death. We have money, yes, but only because of the success of our past family. And that money is running out.

"I guess," I say, eating my dinner slowly so the amount looks bigger. I twirl a strand of the dandelion flower we are eating around my fork, over and over. "I mean-we've never had to sign up for teassare," Mariah begins, her face flushed. I don't know if she's trying to convince herself we won't be picked this year, or not. "We haven't." I say softly, "But we may need to soon." My voice is barely a whisper, masked by the clinking of forks and knives. We both know it-the money I keep about my person in a pouch is slowly sinking. Today we have a free meal: dandelion plants and some bread rolls July's mother gave us. But soon we will need the grain; and the oil. I'm kicking myself we didn't sign up this year.

"We need to talk to him-get him back to work." Mariah says, and we both know who 'he' is. I can imagine the consequence-we've tried talking sense into Father, but it always results in something bad for us. I nod, silently.

Hours later I finally decide sleep is fruitless, and slip out from under the thin duvet. The house is silent: the only noise is the shallow breathing of Mariah in her sleep. Father has decided not to grace us with his presence: something I am quite happy about. I pad on the floor: my feet icy upon the ground. When I get to the main room, I kick the chair back that is our security and wrench the door open, dragging my nightrobe closer around me as I am greeted by cold wind.

I walk round to the back; to the place which is our garden. Well, it is a garden shared by everyone on the street. July, Mariah and I spent our childhood playing games in here. It's as if I can see it now; shadows of my former self running and giggling past me. I walk up the cobblestone path, wincing as the stones dig into my feet, and find my haven.

It's our old den. I think Mariah and July have forgotten it: but I certainly haven't. It's a gathering of trees at the end of the garden, clumped tightly together to make a small clearing. We propped up more big branches, and made a little hut in the middle. Occasionally I go and sit down in it; and loose myself in the quiet peace and forget what is going on. I carefully sit down in the hut, craving the small bit of warmth it will give me, and just sit there silently.

Eventually, the nightsky gets lighter until it is the perfect orange shade known as sunset, and I decide it's time to go back in. I hobble my way back down the path, and get back into the bed, shivering. Mariah turns in her sleep across the bed from me, and I watch her, fascinated by the void that keeps us apart. Mariah is only separated by sleep; and yet I don't like it. When she is older-married to Brian, surrounded by a dozen beaming kids as she vowed she would have, and possibly the mayor's wife, I don't know how I will put up with not seeing my sister for possibly days.

Later that day we visit the market, July and I. Mariah tells me she wants to go and visit Brain, and I reluctantly leave without her. At the market, I carefully look at everything, analysing the price and the benefits in my mind. I select only the things I need: bread, milk and shoelaces. The shoelaces agonizingly remind me of my own shoes and how they rub against my feet; but I look at my greatly depleted pouch and decide against it.

After a miserable look around the market with July having the money to buy what she pleases, I tell her I need to visit the Town Hall. Her eyes widen, but she nods and passes me a mint from the bag she bought. I pop it in my mouth, and with July in tow I climb the steps and enter the cool, ornate building I know only from childhood.

Several minutes later, I come back out and join July who is waiting on the steps. "So," she says, "Why'd you go in there?"

I sigh, knowing she'll find out anyway. "I signed myself up for tessare."

July's face crumples, and she whispers, "No…"

"Yes…we need it. I haven't put Mariah up: and you can't tell her! I want to keep her safe. One of us has to be the one doing the looking after. And that's me. We need that grain, July." July nods, ashen. "We could have helped you," she says, softly. "We can't keep accepting from you all our lives, July," I say, "Someday soon, we're gonna be moved out the Merchant's Village and into the Seam…I need to start making sure we'll be able to cope."

The walk back home is awkward and silent. Neither one of us wants to talk about what happened. As we reach home, I stop in front of July and look her squarely in the eye. "July, you cannot tell Mariah. I will tell her, when I know she'll be okay with it. Got it?" July nods, and gives me a quick hug before scurrying off back home. From behind me, I can hear the crunch of footsteps upon gravel and I open my gate, not wanting to talk to July again.

"Excuse me." But the voice is deep, and mysterious, so I turn around. A boy from the Seam-in my year- holds his palm out to me, and in it is one of the shoelaces I bought today. "You dropped your shoelace." He says casually, holding it out and inserting his hands in his pockets. He meets my eyes; and I notice his are the exact same unruly grey as mine.

"I'm Maylisee," I say brightly, "Who are you? Thank you, otherwise I wouldn't have known." I smile politely, wanting to just go back home and curl up. I've admitted defeat; and I want to just sit and cry. Apparently no one is letting me do that. "I'm Haymitch. Haymitch Abernathy." Haymitch grins, and offers his hand which I accept and he firmly shakes my hand. "Maylisee Donner," I say. "I guess I'll see you around."

"See you." Haymitch walks down the street, hunching his shoulders as I go up the path and open the door. As I open the door, I see Haymitch has turned and is watching me. I let myself in, and the first thing I smell is the rancid smell of puke. Father is home.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

No sooner can I put one foot down on the thin matted rug, Father comes down the hallway, his eyes bleary and beard a tangled mess. "My girl!" He slurs, and I roll my eyes. Now is the happy drunk period. He throws his arms around me and I just fend off a hug. "Hello, Daddy," I smile, knowing the smile doesn't reach my eyes. He stumbles back into the kitchen, and I follow him.

I put my basket in the kitchen and open it up, putting all my purchases around the kitchen. "So where is Mari-ee-ah?" Father says loudly, flopping into one of the chairs and covering his eyes with his hand. He takes a swig of his drink, and I catch a whif of liquor. I wonder where he got the money for it from. "She's out, Daddy." We have both agreed to keep Brian a secret. We don't know what my Father's reaction could be.

I hear the door open, and pray that Mariah didn't bring Brian back. But when I go into the hall, Lacy is shrugging off her thick green coat and hanging it up. Lacy is my cousin; a whole fifteen years older. Ever since Mother died; she's practically been our mother. She visits once every other day and her visits are seldom forgotten. "Hello, sweetheart," she says, beaming, and envelopes me in a hug as if we haven't seen eachother for a while. She reaches into the folds of her dress and presses some coins into my hands. Normally I wouldn't accept any money, but Lacy is family.

"Thank you Lacy." I smile, and it's an honest smile this time. "Where is Mariah?" Lacy asks questioningly, and I say again, "She's out." Lacy knows what I mean and nods, knowing Father is home. Lacy walks into the kitchen, and does a double take even though she already knows Father is there. "Hey Uncle," she says slowly, carefully. Instead, Father just nods and lurches out the house, slamming the door shut behind him. I think Lacy reminds him too much of Mother. She has soft brown hair that fall about her face in curls, dark blue eyes and a heart shaped face. Mother looked almost the same.

Lacy sighs and falls into one of the chairs and I follow suit. "I have a proposition for you," Lacy leans forward and beams. "Come and live with me," she says, taking one of my hands. "You and Mariah. I know it's a while away-but you won't ever have to worry about money again. You girls are already like my daughters-and I know you are struggling here, and I want to take care of you." Lacy smiles encouragingly, and I finger my Mockingjay pin like I always do in situations like this.

"I'll ask Mariah," I say, but inside I know it'll be a no. We'll not see July, or Brian, for days upon end. Yes, maybe we'd have a better life; but we'd not see our friends who have been so supportive this last year. Lacy drops my hand and reaches over to feel the cool metal of my pin. "I miss her too, you know," she says softly, "But you have to let go. I can be your mother now." I nod, and get up, releasing myself from her grip. Mariah at this point shouts, "I'm here!" from the hall, meaning I won't have to answer. Lacy scurries off to the hall, and I think.

Reaping Day is next week. I could ask Lacy if we could give her an answer by then; and then of course it'll be forgotten in the stress and shock of the week. My stomach plummets as it usually does when I think of the Reaping and I try not to think which four people it'll be.

When Lacy has gone, and the promise of a life she's offering, Mariah and I decide to take a walk. We walk back into town, our hands tightly clamped together. Occasionally, Mariah would stop me and point out beautiful cakes, sweets or other delicacies. Pretty things don't interest me. After Mariah spots a bag of adorned boiled sweets at a low price, I don't have the heart to refuse. I pay for them and Mariah chews as we walk along, occasionally giving me one.

As we stop by the Goat Man and pet the goats, I see Haymitch looking my way and tell Mariah I'll just be two minutes. As I walk over, Haymitch grins and slouches arrogantly. "D'you have a problem?" I say, in an annoyed tone.

"What?" Haymitch says, quizzical.

"Why were you staring at me and my sister?"

"You just look so alike; that's all."

"If that's all then," I say, and make my way back across. "Wait," Haymitch says, and bars my way by putting his arm in front of me. "Would you er- would you-like to-would you like to maybe…er come out with me tomorrow?" He says the last bit quickly, so all the words are jumbled. I cross my arms and smile, knowing I have him on the spot. "Are you asking me on a date?" I say, my voice confident which bemuses me. I've never been asked on a date before. "Yes," Haymitch blushes beet red, and looks down. "I'll pick you up at noon." I shrug as if I'm nonchalant, and casually walk back but inside I'm ecstatic.

Mariah looks up. "Who's he? And what's that all about?" I taste the words out in my mouth, "He's my new date. Haymitch."

your document here...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

To say I was casual about my date was a lie. As noon steadily approached, I stood infront of my mirror looking critically at what I was wearing. I had decided upon my only formal wear left-the pale green dress I wore for the announcement. Mariah told me that leaving my hair how it is to sit around my shoulders looks fine. When the doorbell rings, I shriek and shout Mariah; who has inevitably already got the door. When I finally force myself out into the hall, Mariah is grilling Haymitch.

"I told you, I'm _not _trouble," Haymitch says irritably as Mariah leans against the door frame. "Is there a problem?" I say smoothly, and I'm surprised at how calm I sound because I really am not. "No, no, not at all," Mariah says quickly, and pushes me out the door before I can run back and burrow under the covers. She kisses me on the cheek, and the door is shut on my heels.

"So," I ask, "Where are we going?" Not that there are many places. Apparently, we are just going around on a walk. Awkward silence lingers until we reach the Bakers, and Haymitch begins to ask me about my life. I don't tell him the stuff that is painful to utter; but the basics. I'm just sixteen, have a twin and a best friend I can't live without. Haymitch nods in all the right places, but I know he's tuning in and out. Finally, we sit down on the wrought-iron steps infront of the Justice Building and Haymitch tells me about his life. I watch people go about their daily lives, occasionally shuffling to let someone through. The day is sunny, but a bit cold. I draw my cardigan around me, shivering a bit, and Haymitch notices.

"Hey, that's way too thin!" He scowls at my apparent stupidity, and takes his own thick coat and drapes it around my shoulders. I would refuse, but the warmth given from it is so lovely that I can't. The awkward silence again haunts us, both not knowing what to say. I decide that walking with Haymitch into the square would be nice, as sometimes it has a jovial feel. Sometimes.

As we turn the corner to the Square, I see the differences immediately. A banner with the seal of Panem, and the logo for the Quell, hangs above the stage which has been renovated: made bigger, and now has floodlights. The cobble stones have been swept clean: screens projecting the entire square put up on the sides of buildings. I see my own sickened face as I realise what this is for. The Reaping.

I don't even notice I'm on the floor, rocking in a ball, until Haymitch stands infront of me, as if guarding me from unwanted attention. He carefully gets hold of my shoulder; helps me up and we walk back out the Square with eyes on us. I feel faint; I'd almost forgotten it was on Wednesday. Today is Sunday. I feel sick to the stomach with grief, panic, and most of all, fright. I'm not safe; never was. But now, I'm less safe than ever. I feel as if my fragile shields have been pulled down: revealing a shivering, sobbing girl who would give anything to have her name out of that bowl. My earlier bravado has been stripped away.

Haymitch leads me to the wall of a Bakery, and I finally get my grip back, everything sliding into focus. "I'm sorry," I say, sadly. "Really sorry."

"It's okay," Haymitch says softly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I almost smoulder in his eyes-but not quite. "Ciara used to do tha-" As if realizing what he'd said, he covered his mouth, flushing. It clicks together, and rage consumes me.

"Ciara as in your girlfriend?" Haymitch thinks about this, a pained look in his eyes, and nods. I wrench myself from his grip. "I can't actually believe you. You invite me here, on a date, when you have a girlfriend?"

Haymitch's eyes change, clouding, into those of a furious person. "Ciara as in Ciara Knowles. That Ciara." I bite my tounge, horrified at what he means. Ciara Knowles was last year's D12 tribute. And finally, I realize where I'd seen Haymitch before. Crumpling into a heap when Ciara's name was chosen, and I remember Haymitch being escorted from the Square as a paper-white, shaking Ciara mounted the stage. She didn't make it past the Cornocopia.

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"You're right. You didn't." I flush, a mottled red, as Haymitch brushes past me into the Square, leaving a mortified and self-disgusted me in his wake.


End file.
